Hers To Choose (Verdantia Book 2)

by Patricia A. Knight

  An amused huff followed his comment and they walked in companionable silence to the garrison’s dining hall. The orderlies were clearing tables and putting all to right. Sergeant Trecchio spoke with a guardsman at a far table. Eric hailed the sergeant and invited him to sit with them, then spoke with an orderly about food.

  With many lingering glances at Sophi, Trecchio sat and the questions began. “Commander, why are two great Fell wolves prowling our gates? I thought we hunted down and killed all remaining after the Haarb war. Is it part of the business with the attack on Sh’r Un Kree?”

  At Sophi’s gasp, the crusty old sergeant stuttered, “Oh! I thought you knew. I thought you came from there.”

  Sophi replied. “We expected it. That is all. How did you hear this news? What about the Primus? What about his wife? Are they safe?”

  Eric rested his hand on hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Primus G’hed is a wily old fox. He will keep his people safe.”

  “Lady DeLorion, an Oshtesh rider galloped through the gate mere hours before you arrived. She stopped to change horses then rode hard for Sylvan Mintoth.”

  “The rider was a woman? Did she give a name?”

  “Yes, m’Lady. Eudora. She said her name was Eudora.”

  “Eudora! Did she say anything else? Anything at all?”

  The sergeant looked back and forth between Eric and Sophi. “She said the villagers had repulsed the first attack but it had been a very near thing. Primus G’hed ordered everyone to disperse into the wastelands where they might better conceal themselves.”

  “Did she say anything more? Anything?”

  The grizzled old non-com shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. She was here, slammed down some food while we saddled a fresh horse for her and left. I spoke with her, at best, ten minutes.”

  Eric picked up her hand and kissed the back of it. “Sophi, the best thing we can do right now is to rest, eat and rest again, then start out in the morning for Sylvan Mintoth. Personally,” he threw a question at Sergeant Trecchio, “I would like a bath. A hot, long, private, sit-down-and-soak-until-my-skin-shrivels bath.”

  Her aqua eyes glanced at her hand, then up to his face. “A bath. Ohhh.” She groaned. “By Her Light, a bath. Could the garrison provide us each a bath?” She turned beseeching eyes to Sergeant Trecchio. “Is that possible?”

  Eric fought to suppress a laugh. By now the besotted sergeant would personally find a way to heat the mile-wide Echo River for Sophi if she asked.

  “Yes, my Lady. I’ll see about it immediately.” The sergeant motioned one of the orderlies over and explained what he wanted then turned back to Eric and Sophi.

  “Ma’am, give him about thirty minutes, then the women’s bath house will be all yours and Commander, the men’s will be available to you.”

  The simple meal of roasted meat and vegetables provided them as the bath houses were made ready tasted as if it were from a gourmet kitchen. They sopped up the last of the gravy with slices taken from a loaf of soft white bread fresh from the oven.

  Sophi’s eyes widened as the server brought out sliced melon. “My stars! Sugar melon. I have not had that in years.” With no consideration for table manners, her fingers plucked a slippery piece from the platter. She sucked the smooth pink-fleshed slice into her mouth with a moist slurp. Closing her eyes, she moaned in ecstasy. “Mmm! Good!”

  He and Sergeant Trecchio watched, fascinated as her pink tongue licked at the red juice tricking down her chin and then at her fingers. He wanted to moan for a different reason but contented himself with watching a happy, child-like Sophi enjoy the succulent fruit.

  “Ah, Flight Leader, I think your bath awaits.” Eric nodded at the female soldier who stood patiently next to Sophi.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you.” She laughed softly. “Good timing. I am soaked in melon juice.”

  Eric smiled. “I’ll see you in the morning, Flight Leader.”

  Rocking back in his chair, Eric interrupted Sergeant Trecchio’s careful observation of Sophi’s departure. “I would like to get a dispatch to Segundo DeLorion as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, of course, right away.” Trecchio tore his eyes away from Sophi’s alluring sway to summon an orderly to procure writing tools. “When you are finished, a courier will leave immediately for Sylvan Mintoth.”

  Eric didn’t have long to wait before he was able to put pen to paper.

  To your Most Royal Majesty Fleur Constante and to the Segundo of the Second Tetriarch, Doral DeLorion;

  I write of grave happenings. A minimum of three squadrons of Haarb infantry are encamped near Avowatz Mountain in the Oshtesh wastelands. I saw them with my own eyes. A squadron of well-armed Haarb attacked the honor guard for Lady Sophillia Glorianna at Amboy Crater, killing all but one ride. Without the intervention of Lady DeLorion and her flight of archers, we would all have perished. Lady DeLorion was unharmed and remains safe in my care.

  He paused for a moment considering the absolute truth of that statement. Well, for the moment she is safe, and she is, more or less, in my care. At this writing, Lady DeLorion and I have found shelter at the Silver Grove garrison headquarters. Our intention is to rejoin you in Sylvan Mintoth. I will take what men the garrison commander can spare.

  It appears from intelligence gathered, that the Haarb intended to seize Sh’r Un Kree and capture Lady DeLorion as hostage. What their purpose was for her after that is unknown. It is my recommendation that aid be sent to Sh’r Un Kree with all haste. We were able to warn Primus G’hed of the imminent attack, but numbers are not in their favor. Sergeant Trecchio advised us that an Oshtesh courier preceded our arrival by several hours. At the time of this writing, we understand Sh’r Un Kree has been attacked and by order of Primus G’hed, his people scattered into the wastelands to hide.

  I will escort Lady Sophillia DeLorion to Sylvan Mintoth with as much speed and dispatch as is safe.

  As I write these details, two questions beg answers. How did the Haarb arrive, undetected, in such numbers at Avowatz Mountain? How did they know where and when to attack Lady DeLorion’s honor guard?

  As always, I am in your service,

  Eric DeStroia, Commander, Queen’s Royal Guard

  He folded the message and handed it to the waiting courier. Now, my bath. A welcome sight met his eyes as he walked into the men’s bath house—a tub. A tub long and deep enough for him to stretch out in. A tub full of steaming hot water…and towels on a rack within reach, warmed by the fragrantly crackling fire on the hearth. The Goddess be praised. He stripped with quick efficiency.

  Eric eased down into the hot water, hissing as it met his groin. The mineral salts Sophi insisted on stung as they met raw flesh. A folded towel hung over the rim of the great tub cushioned his head as he lay back and let the heat seep into him. I am not moving until it gets cold.

  With a full stomach and warmth soaking into a body abused in recent days by hard use, little food and no rest, he was asleep again in moments. Water cooling about him combined with a drop in temperature as night approached roused him before he slid completely under water. Rising carefully and stepping out, he briskly toweled off, re-bandaged his wound and dressed. As he walked back to Corporal Saunders’s quarters, he passed the door to Sophi’s room. I should check to make sure she’s all right.

  His knuckles softly rapped at her door. “Sophi? I’m turning in. Is there anything you need?” A small noise from the interior caught his notice, but there was no response.

  Rapping again, Eric raised his voice slightly. “Flight Leader DeLorion?” When no response was forthcoming, he opened her door and entered hesitantly. “Sophi?” A movement in the far corner of the room caught his eye. She sat bent over, her gold-blond hair shining in the moonlight from the window, cascaded over her thighs in a luxurious fall. “Sophi?” As he walked closer, she raised her face to him. A silent, steady stream of tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Ah, sweetling.” Eric knelt down and gently cupped
her chin, wiping her cheeks with his thumbs. “You have been so strong, lovely Sophi. Why the tears, now?”

  “Please have sex with me.” Her luminous eyes revealed all the turmoil inside her.

  “Sophi, sweet woman. You are so...unexpected.” Eric held his fingers to her mouth when she would have spoken. “Shhh, listen. I have fought beside brave men—watched incredible displays of courage on the battlefield. But none, I think, greater than what just came from your mouth.”

  “They haunt me—the Haarb,” Sophi whispered. “When I returned, I fought fear every day, at first just to step out of my room.” She gestured vaguely. “To reach a place where I could be comfortable, alone, with a man not my brother.”

  Her eyes met his and the vulnerable trust they held pulled at his heart—while the words she left unspoken broke it. What had the Haarb done to her?

  “I am afraid. I am afraid creatures from the depths of the seven hells stalk the village of Sh’r Un Kree. I am afraid Mother Lyre and Primus G’hed are dead, or worse.” Sophi’s voice dropped to a whisper. “And I lied. I am afraid of what you want from me.”

  She threw her head back and held his gaze steadily. “I am so very, very tired of being afraid. I can do nothing but pray for Sh’r Un Kree, Mother Lyre and Primus G’hed. But the other? I don’t want to fear it any more. I think you could change that for me.”

  He stood and gently pulled her up against him. Tucking her head under his chin, Eric wrapped his arms around her. Her body molded itself to his and her arms wrapped his back, holding him loosely. He stood quiet for a few moments, allowing her to absorb the feeling of being held without demand, of simply being close. Pleasure at her ease in his embrace gratified a longing he’d had since their flight from L’ago Mistero.

  He pulled away just enough to catch her eyes. “You are exhausted and fatigue magnifies fears. It conjures flesh-eating monsters out of mice and unholy specters from naught but night air. Your fears will fade with the rising of the sun and the passing of time. I want you, Sophi, and I plan to make love to you until neither of us can stand—but not now and not here.”

  It pleased him her eyes held disappointment—not fear.

  He led her to the bed and pulled back the covers. “I would hold you in my arms tonight—but that is all I’ll do, sweetling. Perhaps I can keep your worst imaginings away.”

  His discarded pants and shirt fell to the floor as he crawled into the bed. He held out an arm in invitation. “Come. My body is no mystery to you. Come lie with me and let’s get some rest.”

  With a soft sigh, Sophi slipped under the covers and spooned herself to his chest. He heard her soft snort. “Until I can’t stand, Commander?”

  “Ummhmm.” He felt her soft hands adjust his arms to wrap her chest, then fold on top of his hands.

  “From pleasure or fatigue?” Sophi murmured.

  He admired her brave teasing and placed a soft kiss on her shoulder. “Pleasure, Flight Leader. A surfeit of pleasure.”

  “Braggart.”

  “Mmm. No brag. Truth.”

  * * *

  Sophi snuggled her cheek into the pillow, reluctant to open her eyes and begin what the light streaming in the small window announced as a new day. Wait. Not a pillow. Flesh! The prior evening’s events flashed through her mind. I am in bed with Eric. A joyous smile crossed her face. I slept, through the night, with a man! Me, Sophi!

  Gently turning in his arms, she examined his now-familiar face. Such a handsome man. Such a good man. Blessings on you for sending him, brother. Buoyed by a delighted sense of accomplishment, she touched her lips to his. Warm, soft. She pulled back and placed gentle kisses at the corners of his generous mouth and then on his squared chin, rough with the dark bristles of his unshaven beard. She felt his arms close on her ribs and hold her to him. The lips she had just kissed quirked up in a smile.

  “Good morning, Flight Leader.” Eric studied her face with sleepy, half-lidded eyes.

  No man should have such outrageously long eyelashes.

  “No more night fears?”

  She smiled back and shook her head, her blond hair a silky wave around her shoulders. “It is as you said. The sunlight and rest silenced them.” She snuggled her head on his chest. “I am quite content at the moment.” She wiggled, trying to find a better position, then huffed in mock protest. “Though my mattress has developed a lump.” His erection hardened further against her inner thigh. Against her cheek, his chest vibrated with his chuckle.

  “Um, yes. This mattress reliably develops lumps around a certain Flight Leader.”

  Sophi propped her chin on his chest and regarded him. “I know of ways to fix that lump,” she offered in a halting voice.

  He laughed aloud. “Sophi.” His arms tightened around her, then released. “Another time and place, when I can return the favor properly.” He pushed himself upright. “Up with you, woman.”

  Quite happy to accede to his wishes, she pushed the covers away and stood. He swung his legs over the side of the narrow bed and sat rubbing sleep from his eyes. She moved to the small cabinet where she had placed her meager toiletries and started to work the tangles from her hair.

  She watched in the mirror as he pulled on his leathers. You are most pleasing to the eye, Commander DeStroia.

  Eric caught her watching and winked. “I’ll see about getting us some breakfast, then we must be away, Sophi.”

  “I’ll join you in a few minutes, Commander.” The door clunked softly shut behind him.

  She grew pensive as she worked through her hair, then began a tidy braid. Perhaps he can give me what I thought never to have—a home, a husband, children. The one bright spot in her time living in the palace was playing with the children of her brother and the High Lord. The twins, Lilly and Riccio were adorable little monsters. Perhaps some of my own aren’t too much to hope for.

  With a rueful flip of her braid, she collected her belongings and stuffed them into her pack. Her eyes scanned the room for anything left behind. The rumpled covers of the bed drew her gaze and a frisson of happiness ran through her. Perhaps it isn’t too much to hope for after all. She closed the door behind her and went to join the commander.

  Chapter Seven

  Sylvester Contradina loathed his aunt with unrelenting thoroughness. He feared her in equal measure. Today, thankfully, the hood of a coarsely woven cloak obscured the gruesome, twisted wreck of her once-beautiful face.

  “Get off your kneess, Ssylvesster. Your phony obeissance failss to impress me.”

  He fought to conceal a shudder at the hoarse sibilance of her speech. It reminded him of the ruination of her once-luscious mouth, now a blackened, gaping maw of rotting teeth and receding gums.

  “I hold nothing but love for you, dear aunt. I am wounded that you doubt the affection I hold for you.” Rising, he bowed and risked a glance toward her face.

  The green phosphorescence of her artificial eyes flashed from the depths of her hood and a skeletal hand stretched out, palm up. “Liar. Give me the report.”

  He pulled opened the royal dispatch pouch and handed her the sealed packet.

  Again, green flared from the shadows of the hood. “And the courier?”

  “Dead. As you ordered, dear aunt.”

  “What have you done with the other? The Osshtessh woman?”

  “She awaits your pleasure in the lower room.” He thought the green burned a little brighter in the gloom of her hood. He could not prevent an inward shudder. “I have laid out the instruments you asked for. I’ll be at the Half-Cross Tavern if you need me.”

  Her hoarse laugh chilled him. “Sspineless worm. Nothing like Hugo. My brother wass a man. A few sscreams never bothered him.”

  “Yes, Aunt.” He bowed and fled.

  Allegra descended to the soundproofed lower room and entered, throwing back her hood. The slender, sun-browned woman chained nude to the far wall gasped in reaction.

  “Yess. Not sso pretty, am I?” She laughed hoarsely at the horrified rev
ulsion on the face of her prisoner. She selected a razor-sharp scalpel from the assemblage of instruments arrayed on a low table.

  “Hmm. Eudora? That’ss your name isn’t it? Eudora? What message do you carry to Doral DeLorion, Eudora? More important, where iss hiss ssister?” She snaked the gleaming blade tip between the woman’s breasts. Blood welled in a horizontal figure 8. Her victim choked back a sob of pain but did not speak.

  She shrugged. “How deliciouss. You resisst. I love a challenge. Ssuch a dissappointment not to usse thesse lovely toolss.”

  * * *

  Sylvester debated having the sixth brew. His legs seemed a tad wobbly and the room had a distressing tendency to tilt. Can’t deal sober. Need to piss. He rose and staggered toward the ‘necessary’ but a hand on his shoulder intercepted him.

  “My Lord. She wants you.”

  He turned and blinked blearily at his aunt’s servant, who seemed to have materialized out of the smoky murk hanging in the air of the seedy establishment. “Gotta piss.” He giggled. “Piss on ‘er.”

  He stumbled up the steps to the tenement townhome his aunt kept in a poorer section of Sylvan Mintoth. Not what the bitch’s used to, but she can’t risk discovery by the Tetriarch. He wagged his finger back and forth. “No, no, can’t have that.” Should get a message to DeLorion ‘bout her. Anon, anon—y—mouse Moues. Yeah. He belched loudly. That’s the word. Anonymous.

  Fumbling drunkenly with his key, he finally managed to work the lock’s tumblers and he fell into the dark hallway.

  “Dissgussting.”

  He looked up at her menacing figure. She had not even changed clothes. Dark red stains spread across the front of her gown and spattered her grotesque face. Blood. He knew it was not hers. “I’m going to be sick.”

  “Later. I have work for you. Follow me.”

  He staggered after her as she descended into the lower room.

  “Clean this place and disspose of that.”

  His eyes followed her gesture then she turned and left him alone in the room. Didn’t drink nearly enough.